The Cautionary Tale of Unconditional Love
by SweetWillowTree
Summary: Elena is still in love with Stefan. Stefan is still a Ripper. They are still together. Based on Love The Way You Lie Part II WARNING: Dark fic. Not happy.
1. The First Page

**A/N: I'm really unsure about this story idea, because it's pretty violent and it's all Stelena, which I have never done. Ever. So this is just a teeny tiny teaser to test out the waters for it. Please review and let me know whether I should finish it off :)**

**It's a songfic based on the song Love The Way (Part II) by Rihanna feat. Eminem. I don't own the song. **

**Shameless self-promotion: Twitter - SweetWillowTree**

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Vampire Diaries.**

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><p><em>On the first page of our story the future seemed so bright.<em>

Sometimes, for fun, or something like it, Elena reads her old journals. The pages detailing the circumstances of her early romance with Stefan are the pages that are worn down the most. She likes the simple romance of that story; the beautiful boy who swept her away, and swept away the bone-deep grief at the same time; the conflicted vampire, torn in so many directions by who he was, what he was, and how he felt for her; how she had decided so early on, without even realizing it, that she would be his rock, his tether, forever. Or, at least, whatever forever meant to a seventeen year old girl.

_Then this thing turned out so evil. I don't know why I'm still surprised._

Because even though Stefan was a vampire, and forever took on a whole new meaning, the true depth of the notion never quite hit home for her back then. It hits home for her now, as she stands in front of the mirror and hisses, peeling back a layer of gauze from a deep cut on her arm, reaching for the antiseptic to rinse it before wrapping it up once again.

There's a bang that shakes the walls, but she doesn't even flinch anymore as she reaches for the gauze on her neck, repeating the sanitizing process on that wound as well. Except that area is messier, and takes longer to cleanse.

A roar sounds down the hall, and she has enough experience now to know that it's a sound of guilt so painful it's tearing him up inside. Guilt for hurting her, loving her, crushing her with his arms and his house and his entire existence.

And while Elena is no longer afraid of the sounds that he makes in these moods, as she opens the bathroom door and makes her way to their bedroom where she _knows_ that he is, and he slams her against the door as she enters, she can't help but wonder why the violence in his eyes still shocks her.


	2. Wicked Schemes

**A/N: I meant to get this whole thing done within one document, but the end is giving me migraines. So, here's part two, and I'm hoping to have part three up tomorrow evening. **

**Fair warning, based on your feedback: These is really angsty. It's rated M mostly for the subject matter (a little bit of sexuality as well). Read at your own risk, but I'm standing behind this one. **

**It's a songfic based on the song Love The Way (Part II) by Rihanna feat. Eminem. I don't own the song. **

**Shameless self-promotion: Twitter - SweetWillowTree**

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Vampire Diaries.**

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><p><em>Even angels have their wicked schemes, and you take that to new extremes.<em>

When Stefan came back, he was changed. Damon had warned her, Stefan himself had warned her, but Elena, much as she knew that it would be different, hadn't _known_ that it would be different. Damon had tried to help as much as he could, but in the end, it was only Elena and Stefan.

Their first night together, the night that Elena had broken Damon's heart to the point where he actually, finally, and, to a certain point, surprisingly, left Mystic Falls, was an awakening.

They were on the bed, Elena on top of Stefan, kissing him hard, trying to _bring him home_. When she paused for breath, he drew back, a pensive look on his face, hands cupping her cheeks and grazing his thumbs across her cheekbones. Despite the tenderness, there was still an undercurrent of danger that should have warned her off.

But when had she ever listened to that voice in her head that told her to run?

"You're an angel," he breathed, and she blushed, blood rising to colour the skin of her cheeks.

And suddenly, the undercurrent of danger roared to life, and Stefan moved fast, pinning Elena underneath him, eyes bloodshot, veins throbbing, fangs elongated.

Still, she was not afraid.

"I'll kill you," he hissed, part warning and part promise, but no matter what it was, it wasn't enough to scare her off.

"No you won't," she whispered back, but the typical love and trust wasn't there to back up her words; only a certainty and a twisted understanding that she had garnered somewhere along the way. "I'm not like all the other girls, Stefan, and you know it." She sounded bitter, even to her own ears, as she antagonized the already volatile beast on top of her. "If you killed me, the guilt would eat you alive, because you won't just forget me."

When she finished speaking, she did something that sealed her fate: she tilted her head back just a bit, but enough to make it clear that she was baring her throat to him.

"I love you," she growled, watching his eyes travel the length of her neck. "If you're hurting, I'm hurting, so you'd better make it count."

He struck fast and painfully, tearing screams from her throat as he tore into her neck, ripping cries from her lips as he ripped into her skin. And when he'd drunk his fill he kissed her, and forced his tongue into her mouth so she could taste her own blood.

She'd felt numb, but perhaps more alive. She didn't move as he undressed her, and it was only when he was naked as well that she pushed him onto his back once more, sinking onto him without any preamble, causing_ him_ to cry out this time. She grinned in satisfaction, but it wasn't enough. They moved together, but she needed to take it out on him as he had taken it out on her. She clawed at him, glad when he hissed in pain, but disappointed when the scratch marks disappeared almost as soon as she'd made them. She leaned in and bit him, on his throat, his jaw, his ear. She kissed him, and sucked on his bottom lip, clamping her teeth down on it so hard she drew blood.

As she sucked the blood down, Stefan gripped her hips, slamming her down onto him harder and harder until they were both screaming, panting, throbbing, coming and crying together.

They fell apart. Elena winced, her skin burning where it had been torn open, at her throat and where Stefan's nails had sliced open her back.

It had hurt, and it still hurt, but somehow, someway, it had become beautiful.

* * *

><p><em>But you'll always be my hero, even though you've lost your mind.<em>

Elena had changed drastically since Stefan had become the Ripper. She saw her friends less, Jeremy only when necessary, and spent most of her time at the boarding house. Graduation came and went, and still she and Stefan were locked together in an emotional chokehold, unable to move forward or away.

There was a day that cemented this for her. It was not long after she'd begun to consciously hide bruises and bitemarks under layers of clothing. An old creditor of Damon's had come to town searching for the elder Salvatore, and stumbled upon Elena as she wandered the streets late at night. He blurred to a stop in front of her, but she didn't move beyond cocking her head to the side as though she were perplexed by his presence. And as he bore his fangs and moved in, Stefan struck from out of nowhere. Slowly, his eyes never leaving Elena's, he tore the attacker to pieces, ripping him limb from limb as his screams echoed through the forest Stefan had dragged him into.

When it was finished, the couple was splattered with blood, but neither spoke. And Elena found that she felt neither afraid, nor protected; simply connected to the mindless creature that was sobbing at her feet, and strengthened by this power that she held over him.

* * *

><p><em>Just gonna stand there and watch me burn? But that's all right because I like the way it hurts;<em>

In the mornings, he watches her passively as she limps across the kitchen to the coffee machine. On this particular morning, it's worse than usual. Tears of pain fill her eyes, and she bites the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out loud. There's a chance her foot is broken, and she favours it, taking all of her weight on her heel as she walks. And still Stefan watches, eyes dim.

The guilt hasn't hit him yet.

_Just gonna stand there and hear me cry? But that's all right because I love the way you lie._

As she shuffles back to the table, she trips into her chair, knocking her injured foot into the table leg. Her body goes numb, and her stomach turns. The tears spill and a loud shout escapes her. And now that she started, she can't seem to stop. She's sobbing uncontrollably.

Finally Stefan rises and kneels at her feet. It's a pattern now; the guilt is setting in, she can see it in his eyes. She falls over onto his shoulder, and he smooths out her hair, making comforting sounds in her ear. And it isn't until she's calmer that she hears how the lies roll off his tongue like silk.

"I'm sorry Elena; I won't hurt you again."

* * *

><p><em>Now there's gravel in our voices; glass is shattered from the fight.<em>

As time wears on, Elena changes from the passive collector of Stefan's transgressions to an active thief of them. She's able to read him, tell his moods and thoughts. She can tell when he's aching to destroy someone. At those times, she should want to be far away from him, but she can't be. She can't be without him anymore, she never could. She loves him too much, and has become addicted to blood and bruises, deep gashes and broken bones.

At first, she refused his blood, choosing instead to revel in the pain back when the injuries weren't so severe. But as his destructive urges focused more and more on her, and she took that role to a whole new level, the need to accept his magical cure became more urgent. He explained it to her, once, convincingly, during one of those times when he was almost human again.

"You're giving me everything, Elena," he says calmly when she rails against his proposition.

They rarely argue when he's mellow like this; instead, they save up the regular relationship resentments and frustrations for when they can truly express them, no-holds-barred.

"It's unconditional! I've told you that before!" she insists, and he rubs his eyes, seeming much older than he looks. "I love you, all of you, the good and the bad. I want all of you."

"Then you should want this," he whispers. She shakes her head so he stands, pulling her to him gently, aware that she's still sore. She's always sore. "You give me everything, so please, just let me give you this. You make me better when I go off the rails, stop me from killing simply by staying with me. Please, let me make you better too."

His pleading works, and even in his most clouded moments, he never says no to her when she asks him for that.

* * *

><p>It starts, as it always does, with words. Elena goes into Damon's old room in search of a DVD that she had lent him years before, and that is where Stefan finds her. His jealousy, unfounded, since Elena's feelings for Damon had always paled in comparison to what she had with Stefan, always gets the better of him, and his transformation from calm to cruel is quick.<p>

He makes lewd suggestions of how she and his brother had spent their time while he was gone with Klaus. Elena fights back, argues with him that he has no right to make such judgements, and that they aren't true in any case.

She slaps him, holds him close. He holds her hard, and fractures one of her ribs in the process. She'll have to get blood from him later. And as usual, her cry of pain taunts that uncontrollable demon within him, and he pushes her back. She grabs a book and throws it at him, and then another and another, until he approaches her, fingers wrapping around her too-thin arms, forcing a brutal kiss on her.

Her wrists bruise; her lips bleed. They fight, and they kiss. Elena gives as good as she gets, as good as she's able. He lifts her, hands gripping her already pained ribcage so hard she feels tears burning behind her eyes. He deposits her on a desk and his fists burst through the surface of the wood, leaving jagged pieces strewn about. She takes one without hesitation and stabs it into his side, payback for her own injury.

She should run while he's preoccupied.

She doesn't.

Instead she moves closer to where he's kneeling on the floor, grabs his hair in a tight grip, forces him to look up at her. He finally pulls the offending object out of his skin, and she pushes him down onto his back, straddling him, kissing him while still holding him by the hair.

"We shouldn't be here," he whispers hoarsely.

"It doesn't matter anymore," she replies. "He's gone."

Stefan's demeanour changes suddenly, and he grabs her by her upper arms and shakes her.

"Do you miss him? You want him back here?"

"Do you?" she shouts back right before he blurs them upright and throws her to the side, into a full-length mirror in the opposite corner of the room.

He disappears and she sits where she landed, picking glass out of her right arm before moving onto her leg. Through the open door, she hears a roar. He's angry this time, not remorseful. Yet.

She wonders how long it will be before he comes back for her.

* * *

><p><em>In this tug of war, you'll always win even when I'm right. <em>

There are days, weeks even, where Stefan's humanity shines through, and her bruises fade. They travel sometimes; never for very long in case his violent tendencies make an appearance. At those times, they retreat back to the safety of the boarding house, where no one can get caught in the crossfire.

During these periods of lucidity, before he naturally falls back into the monster for a while, there is only one thing that can force this change.

Damon.

* * *

><p>"You need to control it, Stefan. At least for a little while. You can do this."<p>

Elena strokes his face, pleading with him to keep calm. Damon had called to say that he would be visiting. It had been five years since he'd left.

"Why is he coming back here?" Stefan asks, his voice cracking with sadness and bitterness and anger. He sounds like a child, and Elena reaches for his t-shirt, handing it to him so he can get dressed.

"He misses you," she says softly, smiling, "He's your big brother; he wants to make sure you're okay."

"And am I okay?" he asks flatly.

Again, Elena smiles. "You haven't killed anyone in months, and it was months before that too. You're getting better."

Stefan's eyes narrow on an elaborate bruise running down the side of her body.

"I've hurt you," he points out. "I'm always hurting you."

She takes that as her cue to put on a shirt, and she does, flipping her hair before looking back at him happily.

"I can take it, Stefan. And we're fine." She takes his hand and kisses it. "I love you, no matter what. We can do this; we can keep doing this."

Stefan's eyes are darting around now, like a caged animal. She knows that her calm reassurances are battling against the burning that he feels knowing that his brother is coming to check up on them. She's beyond wondering which side will win, but this time, for the first time, she needs him to keep it together.

"Stefan..." she begins warningly when his eyes begin to shift. "You know what he'll do if he sees us like this. You're stronger than this, better than this. I'm not going anywhere, and you aren't going to do anything unreasonable until he's come and gone."

There's a moment where she thinks she may have won. But then he speaks, and disappointment overwhelms her.

"What does that even mean, 'unreasonable'?" he snaps, moving her back until they're against the wall next to the bedroom door. "Since when are we ever 'reasonable'?" he asks her, but she can't answer. "And why is he coming back here! Why do we need to hide from him! What would you do if he knew how I hurt you!"

"NOTHING!" she roars back, knowing full well that it's the truth. "I would do nothing! But he would try and kill you. Maybe he would. Maybe you would kill him first. But you wouldn't last long after that. You know it as well as I do; if you killed him, the second you came back to yourself, the guilt would kill you, no matter how many hits I take. That's the only thing that I _know_ I can't pull you back from."

She wouldn't have said that if she'd won the argument already. But she knows that he's going to fly off the handle right now anyways, and this might at least limit the damage he's about to do to her, and her to him. And she succeeds, at least, in that.

There's a war being waged in their eyes, and he finally huffs, biting into his left wrist before slamming his hand into the wall next to her head. She smiles at him, glad to know that she's made a bit of progress, and turns her head to suck from the wound.

His fangs pierce her neck, but she doesn't even feel it anymore.

* * *

><p><em>'Cause you feed me fables from your hand, with violent words and empty threats.<em>

"What happens when I kill you?" Stefan asks cryptically one day, chin on her shoulder, arm wrapped loosely around her waist.

Elena is reading a book; he is reading her face.

"You won't kill me, Stefan," she answers distractedly. This comes up often enough, and she'd rather ignore the issue than come up with a solution. Or, rather, accept _the only solution_.

"You take my blood to heal, Elena. And I don't -"

She finally puts down her book, and turns to face him. They are curled together on the couch, and their lips brush accidentally.

"You don't what? You don't want me to turn? You don't want me around? You don't what?"

She speaks calmly, numbly. She's schooled herself to keep her voice quiet, to remain passive so long as he's controlled like this. There is no point in goading him to violence if he doesn't need the release.

His face tightens, like it's paining him to think his thought, and furthermore, to speak what he is about to say.

"I don't want you to hate me. You keep loving me, and loving me, and loving me, no matter what I need. But if you turn, Elena... That would be the end for you; I know it."

She kisses him lightly, then leans back into his arms. "Tell me a story," she demands, closing her eyes.

Neither of them acknowledge her now-racing heart. He's ignoring her fear; she's trying to forget it.

* * *

><p><em>And it's sick that all these battles are what keeps me satisfied.<em>

It's Elena's birthday. She is much too old to be comfortable with. Only in her early twenties, but she feels like she hasn't aged a day in years. Or maybe she only aged years in a day.

She arrives back at the boarding house in the afternoon. She had met Jeremy for lunch. They talked, tread lightly. His eyes lingered on her bruised collarbone a little too long for her to be okay with. She fidgeted under his scrutinizing gaze, and when he opened his mouth to say something, she cut him off. He had no right to judge her, she insisted. He had no way of understanding her life, what she was doing. He told her that he couldn't possibly be expected to understand, since he wasn't _part_ of her life anymore. She made to leave before turning back to him with a serene smile.

"There's something bigger here, Jer. Just trust me on this."

* * *

><p>Stefan hasn't hit Elena in forty three days. It's a new record for them. She's been keeping track, and cross-referencing with his old journals. His urges are curbing on schedule. She is proud.<p>

But she can't help but feel... a little lost. For so long, her life has revolved around violence and destruction. Can she even live anymore if she doesn't have that in her life?

And so the roles are reversed. Elena paces on the back deck, a cigarette held tightly between two shaking fingers. She is aching to ache. She thinks there is something wrong with her; there must be. She hears Stefan approach, but she's too distracted by her distraction to be glad that he purposefully made noise with his shoes. This is something she should notice; he is trying to be more human.

He lightly places a hand on her shoulder. She shrugs it off. She isn't in the mood to deal with his lecture about her smoking, which she finds completely ridiculous in any case.

"Those are bad for you," he murmurs.

She turns on her heel, pent up aggression and frustration with the _audacity_ of him to judge _her_ fuelling her reaction.

"Fuck off, Stefan. Don't you get it by now? I'm self-destructive. Deal with it."

She tries to move past him, but he reaches down to grab her hand lightly.

"And don't _you_ get it by now? I always want what's best for you."

And that's enough. That's enough for Elena to blink back tears of anger, pull back her fist and let it slam into the side of his face. It's the first time she's ever punched him, and it feels like she shattered her hand in the process. Good thing she's too far gone to care.

"What's best for me?" she exclaims, using both hands to push him back by his shoulders. "I don't know what's more unbelievable..." She pushes him again, and he stumbles back into the wall of the house. "The fact that you're judging me on my addiction..." He reaches for her, but she's learned a few tricks. Both hands wrap around his wrist, and she ducks under his arm, pushing him, face first, into the brick wall. "Or the fact that you think that the cigarettes will kill me before you will."

A roar finally escapes him, and he blurs around her. They're roles are reversed, and now she's the one up against the wall.

"The point of this, Elena," he hisses her name, like it's something dirty, "Is that I'm supposed to trust you. When you say that you're okay, or I'm okay, I'm supposed to trust what you say. You keep saying I won't kill you, and now you're saying that I will. Which is it! You can't use this," he shoves her a little harder, and a whimper escapes her lips, "To win an argument." He releases her, steps back, but she remains still, pressing her face against the brick as though for comfort. "I'M TRYING HERE!"

Finally, she turns. Her face has fallen, softened. They are back to normal now; he is frantic, out of his mind, while she is yearning to comfort him any way he needs it.

"I know you are," she whispers, approaching him. "I'm sorry. You're right; you're always right. There will come a day when you'll kill me, and I just don't want -"

She's cut off when he barrels into her, clutching her tightly to his body.

"Stefan," she rasps. He's holding her too tightly, and she can't breathe. "We should talk about this. Let me go and we'll talk about this."

She's never asked him to let her go before, and it seems to have an adverse effect. He holds her tighter, hurting her ribs, mouth dangerously close to her throat. She feels the prick of his fangs elongating, and stirs into action, bringing her head back a bit only to thrust it forwards, connecting with his nose and breaking it. In his split-second of distraction, he releases her, and she doesn't hesitate to jump over the stairs, off the deck, sprinting across the lawn.

He has her pinned to the ground seconds before she realizes that her face is in the grass. She feels a crunch in her torso, and a throbbing to match her ignored hand.

"Stefan," she whispers painfully as he hauls her up and flips her onto her back. "Stefan, I can't breathe."

She knows it's useless. She sees the hunger in his eyes, and her hopes disappear. He can't stop now.

But then he surprises her. His clouded eyes clear, and he leans back, tugging her shirt up to examine her now purple midsection. His hands ghost along her ribs, and she gasps, coughing. She feels like she's drowning, but it doesn't matter.

Because he stopped.

* * *

><p><em>Just gonna stand there and watch me burn? But that's all right because I like the way it hurts;<em>

They travel south for a few weeks. They rent a cabin on the beach, and bask in the heat. Elena tans, and they make love under the stars. It's one of those calms between storms that she loves in a strange way. She loves Stefan with everything that she has, and she isn't resentful for every sacrifice she's made to keep him sane. But it is nice, sometimes, to relax, to not feel that heavy pull that drags them mindlessly back to one another.

The night before they leave for home, Stefan slips out of bed while she pretends to sleep. When he's left the cabin, she pads over to the window, watching his back as he leisurely walks along the beach.

She knows what's about to happen. She could feel it in the way he was holding back for the past few days. And rather than cut their vacation short, she watched him try to battle back aggression within. It hurt him to do so, she knew it. But she needed him to push, needed him to try.

_Just gonna stand there and hear me cry? But that's all right because I love the way you lie._

Not ten minutes later, he's reappeared within her eyeline, dragging something behind him. She knows what it is; a dismembered body. She sighs, but is a little proud. She doesn't know when she became this person that gauged only _one_ corpse to be a good thing. But it is, for Stefan. All of the pent up energy that he's been holding in for the past few days, and he was able to restrain himself to a single bystander, rather than an entire village. Rather than her.

He stops at the edge of the water to pull off his clothes and then wades into the ocean, dragging the burlap-wrapped bundle behind him. Faster than humanly possible, he swims out against the current until she can't see him anymore. And then he surfaces again, without the bundle.

She hurries back into bed. He reenters the cabin, showers, and then climbs in next to her. She's learned how to feign sleep properly, deepening her breaths, slowing her heart rate. For hours, Stefan holds her with one arm, and strokes her face and hair with the other. She feels tears spill onto her shoulder.

She aches to open her eyes and hold him, but this time, he needs to do it alone.


	3. Burn

**A/N: Wow. I have finished it. To be honest, this one has officially knocked out my other fic, Not Your Phantom, for most difficult. The last two lyrics were the ones that held this up the most, so I hope you enjoy the ending. Please review, since this is my only Stelena fic ever, and I'm pretty insecure about it.**

**It's a songfic based on the song Love The Way (Part II) by Rihanna feat. Eminem. I don't own the song. **

**Shameless self-promotion: Twitter - SweetWillowTree**

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Vampire Diaries.**

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><p><em>So maybe I'm a masochist? I try to run but I don't wanna ever leave. Til the walls are goin' up in smoke with all our memories.<em>

"Dear Diary," she writes one day, for the first time in a long time.

"The last time I wrote, I was convinced that there was something wrong with me. No one else could possibly understand why I stayed with Stefan. But it doesn't matter anymore. It hurts more to think about not being with him than it does to be with him. And with Lexi gone, who would be there to bring him back. This isn't just about saving him; it's about saving others. I know that there isn't anyone else who could keep him from mindlessly killing, and there's progress. Every day there's progress.

I'm an adult now, not the naive little girl that I was when we first met. I've had years to try and get away from him, but I can't. I can't be without him. I love him, unfailingly and unconditionally. And that's the way it has to be.

Sometimes, I try to leave. I stand at the front door like I've done thousands of times, and I decide that I will go. But I don't _want_ to. It isn't fear of him that's keeping me here; it's fear of being without him that is.

I think the only thing that could make me go is if he stops getting better. If those little signs started to disappear, then I would too. If he stopped feeling remorse for what he does to me, what I do to him, then we would be over.

So until one of us dies for good, there's nothing else for it. We're forever."

* * *

><p><em>This morning, you wake as a sun ray hits your face, smeared makeup as we lay in the wake of destruction.<em>

I watch Elena, listen to her heartbeat as the sun filters through the bedroom window and she begins to wake. I don't remember if she took my blood yesterday, and there's a bruise under her eye. I don't even remember how she got it.

This is a rare moment. Usually, when I'm like this, when I'm out of control, I don't think. I don't marvel at her beauty, at her perfection. I sleep like the truly dead, and buzz with energy when I wake.

Maybe she's right. Maybe I am getting better. It's been years since I became the Ripper that I once was, and now, for the first time, I can see a little clearer. The blood lust is pulsing in my mind, my heart, my veins, but I'm able to hold it off.

Just a little longer.

Just a little longer.

_Hush baby, speak softly, _

Her eyes pop open, but she doesn't smile when she sees me. She tries to speak, but it's a raw sound that escapes her. I notice the bruises on her neck; I must have tried to strangle her last night.

"Morning love," I say softly. I try to stroke her cheek.

She pulls away and moans something incomprehensible. I frown.

"What was that?"

_Tell me I'll be sorry that you pushed me into the coffee table last night so I can push you off me!_

"Don't touch my face," she rasps. "It hurts again, and you aren't sorry this time."

She pushes me away, and tries to roll off the bed, but I grab her, pull her back, until we're nose to nose.

"You aren't sorry, but you will be," she threatens, and I'm confused. "That's the line, Stefan! That's the one thing that I can't take from you. If you can't feel, then this is done!"

I push her away and leap off the bed. A memory from the night before flashes through my mind.

_She's holding me back by my throat, but I don't even feel her fingers until she digs her nails into my skin. Enraged, I follow her lead, pinning her to the wall with my hands wrapped around her neck. Her right arm swings around and she punches me, hard enough for me to feel it, and I release her._

"I'm sorry," I murmur. It happens this way sometimes, but not typically this long. I black out, and when the memories return, the guilt swims in along with it. I meet her brown eyes, now undecided, and I'm angry. She would have left me.

"I'M SORRY!" I scream.

_Try and touch me so I can scream at you not to touch me!_

She moves out of the bed, wearing only my discarded t-shirt, and pads over to me.

"I didn't -" she whispers, suddenly remorseful. "I didn't see it, Stefan. I didn't think -"

She reaches out to grab my hand but I pull away.

"You would leave me, then? Just like that, you would go? And then what? Could I live without you? Could you live without me?"

Again, she moves closer, eyeing me tenderly. This time I slap her hand away.

"DON'T DO THAT! DON'T PRETEND TO LOVE ME WHEN I'M LIKE THIS!"

_Run out the room and I'll follow you like a lost puppy!_

Her eyes flood, and she flees, running from the room. This is different. Something's changed.

I follow after her, afraid that she'll leave me this time.

She hasn't even made it to the stairs.

_Baby, without you, I'm nothing, I'm so lost, hug me. Then tell me how ugly I am, but that you'll always love me!_

I grab her, hold her, kiss her. She holds me back, kisses me back. The rest of the world ceases to exist when I'm in her arms. I can only think when I'm near her. Her fingers weave through my hair, and I know that it'll be okay. She'll make it okay. She's better than me; she'll make it okay.

"I'll love you forever, Stefan," she breathes against my neck. "But if you go backwards, I can't stay with you. If you get worse, I'll leave."

The thought of her not being mine is enough to draw out my vampire visage, and my fangs press against her skin instinctively.

_Then after that, shove me, in the aftermath of the destructive path that we're on, two psychopaths but we know that no matter how many knives we put in each others backs that we'll have each others backs, 'cause we're that lucky!_

She pushes me back, somehow offended. She's erratic today; uncontrolled and unpredictable. Is this how she feels? Is this how I act around her?

She's headed for the stairs again. I see a hole in the wall. Is that new? From last night, or the night before? Elena usually has it repaired by now. No matter what I do, how I hurt her, Elena always fixes everything. I'd do the same for her, if I could. But she's so much better than I am.

_Together, we move mountains, let's not make mountains out of molehills: You hit me twice, yeah, but who's countin'? I may have hit you three times, I'm startin' to lose count._

I reach out, grab her wrist, say something heartfelt and true and useless. We're over words, but I see in her eyes that she hears me somehow. She's calmer suddenly, watching as my fingers graze the length of her wounded neck, then the bruised skin under her eye.

"My blood..." I offer, drifting off to bite my wrist and present it to her.

A peace offering.

With one last calculating glance, her lips clamp over the blood on my arm, her tongue darting out to tease the sensitive skin around the wound. I feel the hunger more intensely now, the desire to taste her is almost irresistible.

Like in slow motion, her free hand crawls up to press into my chest, and I step back as she licks her lips and moves forward. The wall stops my backward momentum, and Elena is on me, in me, around me. As her body moulds to mine, something incredible happens: my fangs recede, the throbbing around my eyes slows and disappears, and my hunger shifts, moves lower.

My hands glide down along her ribs, her hips, to her bare thighs.

"Stefan," she sighs into my mouth.

I spin us so she's against the wall, the syllables of my name echoing in my ears, breaking off into the million different things she's saying; things like 'I love you', 'I need you', and 'Make love to me'.

And I do.

_But together, we'll live forever, we found the youth fountain._

My grip tightens on her thighs. She slides up the wall; my boxers slide to the floor; I slide into her. Her legs tighten around my waist, and she moans long and loud into my neck and shoulder as I slam into her. I wonder idly, as I do every time, whether this is the day that I'll break her. But I need to hear her pleasure, feel her satisfaction, and that desire trumps my concern for her physical well-being.

It always does.

She arches back, her scrambling fingers failing to find purchase on the wall behind her as her moans become screams. I watch her fall apart; a small luxury, since I'm usually focused on her neck at this point. Her hands are now in my hair, tugging my head back. She's kissing me, and moving her hips with mine, and I come. Her name falls from my lips like a prayer, or a curse.

_Our love is crazy, we're nuts, but I refused counsellin'. This house is too huge, if you move out I'll burn all two thousand square feet of it to the ground, ain't shit you can do about it!_

In the afterglow, she's still pressed to the wall, and I'm still inside of her, and the old hunger returns. My face is nuzzled into the junction of her shoulder and neck and I can feel her pulse beating against my mouth. I press kisses to the spot, trying to will away the urge, but the action only serves to draw out my fangs.

"Stefan, no," she murmurs into my hair.

Her legs unwrap from around my waist, and she tries to skirt around me.

"It's too much," she croaks, backing away towards the stairs, holding my eyes. But she's smiling a little, a small, sad smile, so I know we've pulled back. I haven't lost her. "Right now, it's just -" Her hands flutter as she tries to find the words.

I take a step towards her, and she moves back again; fleeing, but not fleeing, all at once. My brittle control is close to snapping, though. The desire to drink her, coupled with her nervousness, is stoking the demonic part of me to want to hunt, rip, kill, destroy. I step towards her again, and again she moves back.

Everything slows down. I watch her face change from soft to panicked, watch her wobble. Too late, I realize that she's backed up too far, or the stairs have somehow moved closer by a few feet. For once, I'm too slow. She falls backward, and I blur to the bottom before she makes it down, but it isn't enough.

My world stops.

_With you I'm in my fuckin' mind, without you, I'm out it!_

Her neck snaps. She is motionless on the floor. I am frozen. I am finished.

Unless she wakes up.

Until she wakes up.

...

...

...

...

* * *

><p><em>Just gonna stand there and watch me burn? But that's all right because I like the way it hurts;<em>

Elena feels it before anything else. Her heart is not beating.

Her eyes flutter open, focusing and refocusing on the room swirling around her head. Her heart is not beating.

She can't breathe, her throat closes against the myriad new smells that bombard her. Her heart is not beating.

Her mouth feels sticky and dry, but she tastes something familiar: Stefan's blood. Her heart is not beating.

The couch feels prickly beneath her fingertips, and not at all soft like she remembers it. Her heart is not beating.

And finally, she hears it. Him. Her name whispered with such tenderness and awe, her entire body goes haywire.

And still, her heart is not beating.

"Stefan," she whispers, sitting up and breathing deep, grimacing at the taste of the world.

He's at her side in an instant, both of his hands clenched around one of her own, his eyes penetrating hers like they never have before. He's watching for something, waiting for it.

She pulls her hand back and presses it to his chest, needing to feel like he's real, because everything else feels like a dream. And then she remembers. Their argument; his blood; her hand on his chest, much like right now; him taking her against the wall; and her refusing his bite, too overwhelmed and emotional to allow that. Then a final stab of panic, and nothing.

"Stefan," she whispers again, more like a question this time, and she can feel her bottom lip trembling.

"Oh sweetheart," he breathes, pulling her close to him, wrapping his arms around her like he used to, back when she was still a fragile teenager.

_Just gonna stand there and hear me cry? But that's all right because I love the way you lie._

A bubble of hysterical laughter bursts from her lips, and he loosens his hold on her.

"An accident," she giggles before bursting into sobs. "After all these years, I'm turning because of an accident?"

He nods slowly, still solemn in the face of her shocked laughter.

"I'm a vampire? I'm becoming a vampire?" Stefan looks like he wants to answer, but she's still talking. "I can't – I can't become this, Stefan. How will I –? How can I -?"

She dissolves entirely into tears, and he pulls her in again, stroking her hair and whispering to her. Over the years, he has whispered pretty lies. But now, she knows, it's the truth. She believes him when he tells her, over and over, that she'll be okay, that she can do this.

She hears a shuffle just outside the parlour, and sits back against the couch, frowning.

"Jeremy's here," Stefan informs her, and she finally takes the opportunity to examine him.

His t-shirt and jeans are torn, and there's a cut down his face, from his forehead to his jaw.

"What happened?" she asks carefully, although she has some idea.

"When you fell," he begins, looking panicked. He hasn't had to interact with people alone in years. Elena was always the buffer, "I went to get him, to tell him. He didn't believe that I didn't kill you, so he hit me."

"With what? A bat?"

"His car," Stefan deadpans.

Elena knows that she should laugh, but she can't. The severity of the situation is clouding her mind as she realizes exactly why Stefan ran to fetch Jeremy.

After this many years, she knows that she need not explain her thought process. She and Stefan share a mind now, she thinks.

"You drank from your father," she states.

"Yes."

"And you want me to drink from my brother?"

This time, there is a pause before he nods. They are both silent for a time, although Stefan does stand, and begin to edge toward the entrance.

"Wait!" Elena exclaims, reaching forward and clutching his hand. Their eyes meet, and she is deadly serious. Literally. "Things will change. _You_ have to take care of _me_ now. You'll have to fix me, protect me, hold me back. You're responsible. Have you thought about that?"

For a moment, it seems as though he's zoned out. Then he blurs over top of her on the couch, and echoes her own sentiments back to her.

"I will keep you safe and well, even if it kills me," he growls, pinning her hands above her head and kissing her roughly. "I love you," he says with so much vehemence, Elena wonders if he has ever meant it before in comparison to this.

And just before he peels himself off of her to bring in her brother and seal their twisted fate, he says the one word the convinces her beyond anything else.

"Unconditionally."

* * *

><p>FIN<p> 


End file.
